


Blind hand of god

by Anuna



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Feels, Established Relationship, F/M, assassin doing assassiny things, clint's pov, dark themes, subtle relationship background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If there is a god, I hope he is like you". </p><p>Or, Clint's thoughts regarding what he does for living.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind hand of god

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlphaFlyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaFlyer/gifts).



> Written for AlphaFlyer, for the occasion of trick-or-treat meme. This one is a bit darker than my usual things, and somewhat out of my comfort zone, but I enjoyed working on it nevertheless. I hope I did well!

_Seeing, contrary to the popular wisdom, isn't believing. It's where belief stops because it isn't needed any more._ \- Terry Prtachett, Pyramids

*

He wasn't out to change the world. His ambitions were far simpler, and the sad fact was that people like him were wanted and employed (by governments, armies and clans, all powerful structures meant to create some order according to their own liking. He used to meddle in the deciding process until the army decided he didn't fit their mold. They called it obedience. In Clint's opinion it was too much like religion.)

He wasn't a religious person, but he didn't oppose the idea of a god existing. If there was a god, or gods, or some divine and all knowing force that kept the universe in balance, that was meant to weigh his sins against his goodness, the he would face it calmly and quietly, just like he did the killing. Understanding of what he'd done for living was part of that calm. He looked at the mirror, and the point was, he _could_ look at the mirror. 

What he did was take other lives – per order and his own judgment, but never impulsively, and never with his eyes closed. 

“I don't need men who believe,” Nick Fury told him once. “I need men who can see things. If you see you don't need to believe.”

It made sense to him. Seeing meant deciding. It meant pulling the trigger or releasing an arrow. To some he was merely a weapon, held by much larger, murderous hand attached to a hidden face. To others he was nothing more than a well paid criminal. (His victims _were_ criminals, had been criminals. Their harm outweighed any use they had for the world they had plagued before they met his arrows. Clint knew because he'd seen it. His eyes were perfect after all). 

So what was he? What would the universe think of him, if he was significant enough to be weighed and measured among others who nurtured and created and brought things to life? A sharpshooter by definition and an efficient man by the things written in annual reports submitted for his S.O. to sign. He didn't hide by convenient wisdom in his own mind, or anything thin and sentimental to try and lessen his own responsibility in the act. Some might call it a lack of guilt. He wouldn't. To him it was a set of facts.

“What you are,” Natasha said once, “is a better man than me.”

“Why is that?” he asked and she smiled, slowly and without remorse in her green eyes. 

“Because you end it quickly,” she said, drawing a sharp line against his palm. _Unlike me_ remained unsaid between them, but he could read it in the pauses between her words. He had seen her cruelty and wasn't afraid of it. “You killed many and saved a lot more, and never even thought about making them suffer.”

He thought about it briefly. Kill on the spot, with a single shot. Maybe that made some kind of difference. He didn't know. He didn't _need_ to know. 

“I'm not supposed to do that. I'm not the one who decides how they die. I just see that they do.”

Natasha smiled, like dusk hanging over the horizon and Clint welcomed the thought. 

“Like a blind hand of god,” she said. “If god exists, I hope he is like you.”


End file.
